Addicted
by Never Stop Believing in Love
Summary: Boyd finds himself pondering the adage ... like father ... like son. B/G Complete.


**Disclaimer: I do not own the copyright for Waking The Dead or its characters – all rights belong to the BBC – who incidentally should just bring it back!**

**Rating: K**

**I haven't seemed to be able to produce anything of writing worth lately but this is for CatS81 – Happy Birthday lovely. *hugs* Xx **

**Addicted**

Boyd switched off the ignition prompting the Audi's engine to immediately dissolve into silence. His hands gripped the leather steering wheel so tightly that the colour began to drain from his knuckles, a blue-white hue projecting through the tautness of his skin. He closed his eyes before bowing his head sombrely. Briefly he wondered at the meaning behind this act. Was it an act of contrition, or in acknowledgment of the guilt that he felt tighten around his throat - guilt which was now silently suffocating him - or maybe it was just a simple act of some twisted kind of worship, a nod to what he knew he was about to surrender to.

He raised his eyes looking forlornly through the windshield towards the familiar semi-detached house. Every promise he had made to himself that day dissipated instantly. He had stopped trawling the depths of his mind for excuses and had slowly begun to admit the stark honesty which loomed like a demon and taunted his every weakness. He had enough self-awareness to admit that for all the promises he had made himself in the daylight hours, for all the denial he'd shrouded himself in, deep in his heart he had always known that tonight he would end up here. There was never going to be another conclusion.

Sighing deeply, he ran his fingers through the silver strands of his hair as images of his son cascaded unbidden through his mind. They were more alike than he cared to admit – _like father like son_ the old adage went, and he was beginning to painfully accept that simple truth. Boyd had spent many years trying to understand his feral and wayward son, seeing only their differences, the things that drove a huge gulf heartbreakingly between them. He had watched his only child wantonly destroy himself in the worst possible way, chasing the next high with little regard to the desolation it was luring him into. He knew every waking moment of his son's life had been spent dreaming of the next hit, imagining the warmth that would flood through his body as the drugs surged their path deep within his veins, taking hold of every aspect of his being. Boyd knew how Luke had longed for the momentary pleasure that it released through him. Pleasure that had ultimately ended in his pitiful, lonely destruction but which had held him so tightly in its death-grip that he was helpless to break free. Luke had been addicted, and Boyd, for all his knowledge and experience, could never fully understand what that meant. Until now.

His was not the same drug and yet it held the same supreme power over him. Luke had filled his veins with a poison which had slowly and destructively stolen every bit of his life away. But it was her, however, who coursed through Boyd's veins. His veins were filled with a hunger so deep he craved to satisfy it almost every waking hour. He longed for how she made him feel, longed for the momentary release she offered him. So intense was his longing that it consumed him. No matter how hard he fought against it, he found himself completely defenceless against the aching need that it bestowed. The need to feel – to believe, in something other than his failures. There was no recourse; nothing he could say or do could distract him enough to prevent the ultimate outcome. So time after time he returned to her looking for his next hit.

Intense pleasure. Intense pain. Light-years apart and yet both delicately and intricately woven around the other. What began as a harmless release, a way to escape the desolation of his life, now held him prisoner. A slave to his own carnality.

She made him feel in a way that nothing else on earth could. Even the mere mention of her name was enough to cascade electrical pulses throughout his body in heightened anticipation. She knew him better than anyone else and accepted him entirely as he was. When he was alone with her he could lower the mask, knowing she would never judge or betray. He craved the sensations she caused within him, and found himself chasing after them, longing for the time when the two of them could hide from the world and be completely true to themselves.

He hated the pretence, but understood the necessity of it. Both of them had so much to lose, and he couldn't be responsible for costing Grace everything. It was their secret. It was their risk. The art of betrayal was not a new concept for Boyd, but this all-consuming desire that constantly encompassed him was.

He had always been the one who took all that he wanted and walked away unscathed with little or no thought for those he left behind. He had never needed anyone before, not in the way he needed Grace, and he hated being so out of control of his body and his mind. Peter Boyd was not a weak man by anyone's standards, but she had complete dominion over him and he was helpless to prevent it.

Slowly he got out of the car, slamming the door behind him. The noise of the security alarm setting itself cut through the evening air as he made his way up the gravel driveway. His evening was always destined to end here, just as it had almost every evening since they shared that first illicit kiss. He could deny it every second of every day, but ultimately they both knew that when the sun finally set he would be relentlessly drawn to her.

His finger reached to press the doorbell, the light which suddenly illuminated the hall heralding her imminent arrival. Filling his lungs with the fresh evening air Boyd waited as she opened the door to welcome him. Her familiar scent escaped from the warm hallway bathing him with a sense of peace and wellbeing as it ignited his deepest senses with the essence of all that she was. The cloud of denial which he had been living under throughout the day disappeared suddenly, instantly replaced by his overwhelming desire for her. He smiled softly in greeting, as he stepped forward and drew her into his embrace.

Burying his head deeply into her neck, he knew that tonight there would be no more denial, no more pretence. Tonight he would be completely hers and would revel in it. There was no doubt about it; Peter Boyd was helplessly, hopelessly and completely addicted.

Fin


End file.
